Christmas Lights
by Jillian1
Summary: A holiday brings light to an otherwise dark life. Post-Truth Christmas fic, a few days late.


TITLE: Christmas Lights

AUTHOR: Jillian

RATING: PG-13

SPOILERS: Nothing specific, everything through the Truth

TIMELINE: Post-Truth

FEEDBACK: Fawned over eternally at

ARCHIVE: If you want it, I'd be flattered. Just send me an e-mail.

SUMMARY: A holiday brings light to an otherwise dark life.

DISCLAIMER: They belong to 1013, Chris Carter, and some other lucky people. They're not mine, I don't mean to infringe, and I'm definitely not making any money off them.

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It is morning, Christmas Day. My lover is still asleep, and snow has been falling all night long. I look at him next to me. This Christmas is not particularly joyous. He doesn't have visions of sugarplums dancing in his head; his visions are of informants and computer nerds and a one-armed rat. I run my right hand absently over his shirt, longing for some kind of closeness beyond that of our proximity. It feels like we haven't really made love in ages. Things between us have been difficult for a long time. We forget to share words some days; nothing meaningful passes between us. It is not very often that we truly make love anymore. In the words of John Lennon, "And so this is Christmas...

"And what have we done?" Well, I'll tell you John, we've done plenty. Yes, another year over and a new one just begun. We spent the last year traversing the country, leaving it on occasion when they were close on our trail or when we needed to see someone far away. We've spent the last two and a half years this way, actually. We've been living mostly in hotels, although there are some people we can depend on to shelter us, even to hide us. Monica Reyes' adoptive mother has a ranch in New Mexico with a room above a barn, and she makes excellent tamales. We even saw Monica, John, Gibson, and Skinner a few times this year. We continue to try and stop the Super-Soldiers, and the colonization project. Our work is slow, dangerous, and thankless. We come home to featureless motel rooms, displeased and distant.

We are very different than the people we were when we first met. Some things changed for the better, and others… I try not to think about those things, but some days I can't help it. He took to calling me Dana after he left William and me. Especially after he got out of jail. I was still Scully when we were working, but most other times I was Dana. I don't really like it. It was tender at first, emotional, but it was different. We are different now. Dana. Sometimes it still sounds foreign, even to me.

On this day, a child was born to a virgin mother. The Virgin Mother. Mary and Joseph were weary travelers, hoping to find a place to stop on their journey to Bethlehem. But Mary gave birth to her son, and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. There was no place for the couple with the miraculous child, the Messiah. There was no place for them, and this child would not fit in in this world either.

Mulder and I had a miracle child once, too. Not born to a virgin--not even close--but born to a woman who should not be able to conceive. A woman stripped of what made her a woman, the ability to grow life inside of her. And yet God--was it God? Was it the Holy Spirit, or maybe even the Son? Or was it the Syndicate, or Satan? Or are they all the same?--blessed us with a child. A child I carried and birthed and nursed and cared for. A child who did not belong with me, a child I gave up. My giving him up has been very hard for Mulder to understand sometimes. We talk about him; talk about how it's better that he is safe while we continue our work. I don't think either of us really believes that.

We didn't buy each other gifts this year. There's no time for presents, no time for cheer. There's not even enough time for a glass of wine and a good conversation. There are only nameless motels, shady informants, back alleys and gunfire. Today we are in New York City. We had some business to conduct there, a meeting in secret with a young man who had left the Army and said he had information for us. Some of it may prove quite useful, and we will probably contact him again. It was cold on the eve of the Savior's birth in New York City, cold and busy and it made me feel even more alone.

This motel room we are in right now is not the worst we have stayed in. It's not the best, either. It's clean, which is really all I ask for anymore. There's a bathtub, but I don't have time to soak anymore. I rest my head on Mulder's shoulder, longing to spend time with him. We are almost always in one another's company but spend very little time really being together. It doesn't feel like Christmas. The days in our new life are nondescript. Sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between Monday, Saturday, Easter, and Christmas.

Mulder stirs next to me, and I long for his company. I hate to wake him, since he is such a troubled sleeper. I look at him for a while, and give in to my selfish desire for a conversation with him. It's Christmas, I deserve it. I snuggle closer to him, finding warmth and comfort. He's all I've got left.

"Mulder," I whisper into his ear. "Mulder," he wakes up to the sound of his name. "Merry Christmas."

He looks into my eyes and says, "Merry Christmas, Scully."

"Scully," I say, a hint of wonder in my voice, wanting to hear the name again.

"Scully," he repeats.

With his words I know that I'm all he's got left.

I am usually Dana in bed, but now he has called me Scully. This is perfect, I love being Scully. I love being the Scully who argues with him and the Scully who relies on science. I love being the Scully he has known for what feels like forever. Once upon a time, "Dana" sounded sexy to me--different, new, exciting, as if we'd reached some higher plane. But now, "Scully" is the sexiest thing in the world.

It feels like before. Before we had to live like this, before we were fugitive and before we had to spend our life chasing evil men. Before I had to leave behind who I was. Agent Dana Scully is gone, killed in the ancient ruins of New Mexico with Fox Mulder and CGB Spender. She's dead. But I live; I live for dingy motel rooms and an underground world rank with conspiracy, lies, betrayal, deceit, and death. I live as Dana, somebody new who doesn't even look like Agent Scully, let alone feel like her. I only heard "Scully" shouted occasionally during tense moments in warehouses or army bases or alleyways. Today, sheltered away from danger in bed with my lover, I heard my name out loud.

He pauses for a long time before saying, "I'm sorry we don't have a Christmas tree."

I wonder if he is apologizing for the lack of a tree or for the life we have been forced to live. I don't know what to say. I'm tired of telling him to stop feeling guilty, that it isn't his fault. Both of us are going to feel guilty for a long time, for many things. Every time I hear a baby cry, the guilt crushes me. Every time Mulder sees me cry, the guilt crushes him. I remain silent and wait for him to say something else.

"Tell me about Christmas, Scully, when you were young. What was your tree like?"

"Well," I began, happy for the distraction, "it was big, we always got a real one. We put it only about a week before Christmas. Dad hated cleaning up the pine needles so we took it down right after Christmas. But for the time in between, it was perfect. We had some old ornaments from my grandparents. But most of them were things we made in school. Reindeers and snowflakes and candy canes...There was this one ornament," I laughed for a moment, "that Charlie made. It had nothing to do with Christmas. It was a paper plate that he colored orange and made into a clock, but he was so little, and so proud of it. Mom's been hanging it up ever since. It's probably up right now."

"It sounds wonderful," he said.

"It was wonderful."

"We stopped really celebrating the holidays after Samantha was taken. Even before that, we were just about the only Jewish kids in Massachusetts. Hanukah was never that exciting."

He was quiet for a moment again, remembering I suppose, until he suddenly asked, "Are you up for going out somewhere right now?"

"I guess so," I said, running my hands over the buttons on his shirt and adding suggestively, "although I was hoping to unwrap my Christmas present."

"Don't tempt me, woman" he teased.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Okay," I sighed, "give me some time to get ready."

I wander into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I look different, I have to. We're hiding. I try to change my hair every once in a while. It was blonde for a while. Mulder found that pretty interesting. Then they spotted us, so I grew it longer and changed it again. Now it's back to red, but darker. It's getting long, two inches or so past my shoulders. I look different. 'Beautiful,' Mulder always tells me, 'just different.' Not Scully. He is Mulder, for the most part, though sometimes he lets his facial hair grow in a bit and slicks back his hair to throw people off. I hate it. I like him as my Mulder. He will be my Mulder today, and he called me Scully. Maybe this won't be such a lonely Christmas.

When I am ready, I slip on my jacket, my boots, and don a scarf and gloves. Mulder takes my hand, looking excited. I wonder where he's going to take me, but I don't ask. We leave the motel, which was incredibly difficult to book last minute on Christmas, and head out onto the city streets. It is cold and crowded, and the snow is falling. We don't have any friends here; we don't have many friends at all, actually. It is Christmastime in New York City, and we are without somewhere to belong, without a holiday feast, and alone. Alone in a huge sea of tourists.

We walk in silence for a very long time, but it is a comfortable silence. I finally crack, unfamiliar with the city and unsure of where he is leading me.

"Where are we going, Mulder?" I ask impatiently.

"To find a Christmas tree, Scully," he grins.

"Mulder, how on earth are we going to fit a tree into that little motel room?"

I am about to continue questioning him, when I realize where we are. We round the corner, onto the Fifth Avenue. I stand in front of Saks and looked across the street. There it is, Rockefeller Center, with a huge Christmas tree overlooking the ice skating rink. This is not just any Christmas tree. This is the Christmas tree. Tears fill my eyes. I squeeze Mulder's hand as I try to get any words out of my mouth. It is so beautiful.

"I know there isn't any orange clock on there, but, Merry Christmas, Scully."

Sometimes, he tries so hard to make things better for us. Today, he has succeeded.

"We never had a Swarovsky crystal star atop our tree, I can tell you that much," I grin when I finally find words.

"Do you ice skate, Scully?"

"Terribly."

"Good. That'll make it more interesting."

And he pulls me towards the skating rink. We may not be with our families, we may not be eating a Christmas ham, and there may not be any orange clock ornament, but it's Christmas. It's Christmas and we are two lovers, emerged from the shadows to spend at least one day in the light. That light, this day to just exist with him as Scully, is the greatest Christmas gift anyone has ever given to me.

"Thank you, Mulder," I say. "Thank you for giving me Christmas back."

He kisses me silently and we get on the long line for skating rink. The wait is next to forever, but neither of us cares. In fact, I want this day to last forever. The longer I wait to ice skate, the longer I can spend being his lover, his friend, his Scully. We can use the time to laugh, to smile, to talk. We have been different people for the past two and a half years, but we are Scully and Mulder again. We have a lot of catching up to do.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," I smile, as we wait on the long line and start the process of getting to know one another all over again.

End.

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NOTES: Belated Merry Christmas all! The orange paper plate clock is something my little sister made in pre-school. We have no idea how it ended up on the tree, but it has become the favorite family ornament. This fic was inspired by the Haven's Ornament This challenge, calling for a fic about Christmas trees and holiday traditions and ornaments and whatnot. Not exactly your typical tree, but hey, it does the trick.

Have a wonderful new year, everybody!


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